


sweetest submission

by vulnavias



Category: Ghost (Sweden Band)
Genre: Angst, Dom/sub, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-24
Updated: 2019-02-24
Packaged: 2019-11-04 16:06:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17901260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vulnavias/pseuds/vulnavias
Summary: A collection of short Copia/Papa 3 one-shorts featuring sub!Copia. Any specific warnings/notes/etc that may apply will be in the notes of each separate fic/chapter.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Posting fic on tumblr is such a nightmare if you only have access to the mobile app, so I’m dropping all of these fics in one place since they all are tied together.

The room is quiet but for the occasional creaking of Papa’s chair and the rustle of papers as he sorts through a stack of documents from Sister Imperator. If he listens carefully, Copia can almost hear birds singing outside the window. He finds the stillness soothing, a welcome respite from the usual hustle and bustle of clergy business.

He is kneeling on the floor to the right of Papa’s chair, feet tucked underneath him. It’s part of something new that they’ve been playing around with. It was Copia’s suggestion and Papa has a hard time saying no to him. However, it’s taking him some time to get used to the idea of using these dynamics outside of the bedroom. He keeps glancing apprehensively at Copia.

“Are you sure you’re not uncomfortable?”

Copia shakes his head. Papa doesn’t seem convinced, but he turns back to his work nonetheless. Truth be told, the floor beneath him is hard and neither Copia nor his knees are as young as they used to be, but he isn’t uncomfortable yet. If he gets to that point, he knows all he has to do is say so.

He’s been doing this for the better part of the morning. Papa will give him errands to run, and after carrying them out Copia will return to his spot and await his next task. They’re small things - delivering messages, making phone calls, scheduling appointments - but completing them efficiently fills him with a tremendous sense of satisfaction. In many ways he’s still the same as he was a boy, when his schoolmates would tease him for being teacher’s pet. But being Papa’s pet comes with much more lucrative rewards.

Papa sighs and slumps in his chair, cursing under his breath. “I fucking hate paperwork,” he grumbles. “I can delegate this shit, right?”

“I can take care of it for you,” Copia answers.

Papa looks down at him and reaches out to stroke his hair. Copia leans into the touch. “No,” Papa says. He gathers the stack of papers and holds them out to him. “Take these to Cardinal Raffaello and tell him I want them completed by the end of the day.”

Copia eagerly grabs the papers and gets to his feet. “Yes, Papa.”

Raffaello sneers as he snatches the papers from his hand, but Copia merely smiles back at him. When he returns to the office, he finds Papa leaning back in his chair and rubbing his temples. It has only been a few months since his coronation, and while the perks of being the band leader certainly appealed to him, he has found the more mundane duties that come with being Papa extremely tiresome. Copia tries to help him carry the load as much as he can.

Papa holds his hand out to Copia, pulling him into his lap. The chair groans under their combined weight, but it doesn’t give in. Papa leans into him, eyes closed, pressing their foreheads together. He doesn’t kiss him or touch him save for one hand on the small of his back. They simply sit together in silence. They have reached a point in their relationship where they slip easily into quiet intimacy, a kind of closeness that doesn’t necessarily come with the intention or promise of sex. They just enjoy sharing the same space, breathing the same air, and feeling the weight of the other’s body pressing against their own.

But something is nagging at Copia’s mind that makes him break the tranquility of the moment. “Papa?” Papa hums in response. Copia waits a beat before continuing, anxious to hear the answer but not wanting to seem _too_ eager. “Have I been a good boy?”

Papa chuckles, a smile spreading across his lips as he opens his eyes. He reaches out and cups Copia’s cheek, runs his thumb along his bottom lip. “Yes, caro mio,” he says. “You have been a very good boy.”

Pride swells in Copia’s chest, heat rises to his cheeks, and he returns Papa’s smile. It does something to him, hearing Papa say those words, that fills him with more joy than anything else. Perfectionism is definitely one of his defining traits and being praised for doing a good job pleases him more than anyone can ever realize - especially when that praise is coming from Papa. Copia would give his last breath to make him happy, to make him proud.

Papa’s smile morphs into a smirk and his eyes take on a familiar mischievous gleam. “I suppose you’d like a reward.”

Copia’s brain is screaming - _yes yes yes_ \- but he’s very skilled at keeping his outward composure. “If it pleases you.”

“Oh, it does,” Papa says. With that he slides his hands to Copia’s hips, lifts him and plants him flat on his back on the desk.

As Papa begins to trails kisses along his neck and dismantle his cassock, Copia beams with pride, and in the moment he is utterly, ridiculously happy.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Papa is getting ready to go on tour for the first time and Copia is not happy about it. There will be a fluffier follow-up soon, I swear.

Copia has known this day would come from the moment Papa took his place at the head of the church. Tomorrow Papa leaves to go on tour with the band and will be gone for two months. He’s leaving Copia in charge and while Copia’s ambitious side is very pleased and proud to be trusted with such responsibility, there’s another side that is overruling his judgement. That’s the side of him that cannot bear the thought of being without Papa for that long.

He’s imaging two months of lonely nights, sleeping in an empty bed and waking up alone. Two months without Papa’s grounding presence, without his secret smiles that are only for Copia, without his hands and his mouth. He’s also imagining all the people Papa will meet on the road, beautiful men and women who will be only too happy to take Copia’s place in his bed. He knows this is just how things are, how they are going to be from now on now that Papa is, well, _Papa_. But he doesn’t like it and it’s beginning to show.

He’s throwing a bit of a tantrum. He’s acting out. He’s talking back. He’s trying desperately to get a rise out of Papa, to bring out the temper he knows is in him.

While in Papa’s office, kneeling next to him in his usual spot, Copia pops off some snide remark and the way Papa’s head snaps around to glare at him is the first time he’s felt an inkling of satisfaction in days. He lifts his chin, waiting for the reprimand, the strike, something, _anything_ , that is surely coming. It never does. It only makes him angrier.

That night, in Papa’s bed, he’s unruly. He doesn’t follow instructions, he doesn’t stay still, and he tears at Papa’s pants even though he has been told explicitly to keep his hands to himself. Papa finally gets enough; he snatches Copia’s arm with one hand and grabs his chin with the other, forcing him to look at him. He’s pissed and Copia meets his gaze with a defiant glare of his own, daring him to do something.

Papa growls, “Why are you behaving this way?” Copia doesn’t answer, instead he tries to wriggle out of Papa’s grasp, tries to push him one step further to make him snap. When Papa’s grip tightens, Copia thinks he is finally going to punish him. He wants it, he wants Papa to take him across his lap and lay into him, he wants the pain to drown out the ache in his chest.

But Papa doesn’t make a move. He keeps looking at Copia, searching his face for an answer, and soon, it seems, he finds one. He’s gaze softens - _no, damn it_ , Copia thinks. He struggles more, tries is hardest to break free, but Papa holds firm. The hand on Copia’s chin goes to his cheek, the touch entirely too gentle, too tender.

When Papa speaks again, all the anger is gone from his voice. “Is this because I’m leaving tomorrow?”

Copia tries one last time to provoke him. “Aren’t you going to punish me?”

“No,” Papa answers. “Not like this.”

Copia crumbles. This time Papa doesn’t stop him when he tries to turn away, giving him space but keeping one hand on Copia’s chest to let him know he’s still there. The weight of the last few days falls down around Copia and he’s left reeling from it all. He’s losing Papa - not for good, but it might as well be. After this tour there will be another tour, and then another, and another, and each tour will bring more open arms waiting to replace Copia in Papa’s bed and maybe even in his heart.

And at the moment, Copia feels like he deserves that. He has been _terrible_. He has been bratty and disobedient and he knows Papa must be disappointed in him. That hurts more than anything else: knowing that he has let Papa down. Copia turns back to him expecting to be dismissed, but instead Papa leans forward and presses a soft kiss to his forehead.

Copia gives in and allows himself to be wrapped up in Papa’s arms, to take in the sweet promises whispered in his ear. “You will see,” Papa tells him, “two months isn’t such a long time. I’ll be back before you know it. You’ll be so busy you won’t have time to miss me.”

It helps to dull the ache a little, temporarily at least. Tomorrow Copia will have to watch Papa leave and he will have nothing, no anchor to keep him afloat, no guiding hand when things become too much and he needs to relinquish control.

But tonight he has this, and as Papa’s warmth and the steady beat of his heart lull him to sleep, Copia hopes it will help him make it through tomorrow.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Papa returns home from tour. A nice, soft reunion to make up for the angst of the previous fic.

Copia has been pacing for the better part of an hour. His stomach is doing backflips and his heart threatens to beat right out of his chest as he keeps glancing through the window, waiting to catch sight of the tour busses returning. Sister Imperator, the ghouls and clergy members who have gathered to welcome Papa home must surely attribute his nervous state to business matters, assuming he is anxious that Papa will be pleased with the job he’s done while he was away.

In truth, he is both excited and terrified to see Papa again after such a long absence. There have been a few phone calls here and there (“What are you wearing?” “I’m in a meeting with Sister Imperator.” “So what? She probably wants to watch.” “ _Papa_.” “Okay, _fine_.”), but they did little to fill the void in Copia’s life. If anything, they only made him miss Papa more and become more acutely aware of the distance between them. Sometimes when he couldn’t sleep, he would sneak into Papa’s room and sleep in his bed, breathing in his lingering scent on the sheets, trying desperately to feel closer to him.

The prospect of seeing Papa again, of being with him again, holding him again, kissing him again - these thoughts have kept Copia going the last few days, as the the date of Papa’s return drew closer. But now that the day has come they are undercut by the fear that distance has not made Papa’s heart grow fonder, that instead he may return with a new favorite on his arm and dismiss Copia entirely. The idea causes Copia’s heart to sink as he finally sees the tour busses approaching the ministry.

He leads the welcoming party out front to greet the returning pontiff. A handful of tired-looking Ghouls spill out of the first bus, while from the other emerges various crew members who begin unloading equipment. Copia tries to compose himself as best he can, putting on a professional front so as not to give himself away in front of half the clergy. Finally, Papa appears, hiding behind dark shades and sipping an iced coffee.

He’s exhausted. Copia can see it in the way he walks, the way he drags his feet, the way his posture is lacking the proud stance he usually carries. There are a few whispers behind Copia’s back; most were probably expecting a dramatic entrance, the prodigal son returning triumphant after spreading their message to the masses. When Papa removes his glasses to reveal dark circles and tired eyes, Copia has to clench his fists to resist the urge to reach for him.

He upholds the expected formality and bows, the crowd behind him following suit. “Welcome home, Your Dark Excellency,” he says and Papa merely hums in response. They head inside among a gaggle of greetings and offers of congratulations, but Papa’s heart isn’t in it and he barely acknowledges anyone.

Once in his quarters, a group of Ghous and attendants begin to unpack his luggage but Papa soon dismisses everyone but Copia, whose heart flutters at the chance to be alone with him. Papa sits heavily on the edge of his bed, rubbing his eyes and deflating even more now that no one else is around to see. Copia isn’t sure what he should do, so he does the only thing that he hopes will bring Papa some measure of comfort.

He sits on the floor at Papa’s feet and rests his head in his lap. He’s rewarded by Papa’s hand carding through his hair and the simple touch releases the tension Copia has been carrying for weeks. It’s a small gesture but it speaks volumes, reassuring Copia that his place is still here, that Papa still wants him.

They slip easily back into place, back into their familiar intimacy, and Copia feels a tremendous sense of peace knowing that the time spent apart hasn’t changed this, that they can pick back up right where they left off as if no time has passed at all. Papa’s gentle caresses ground him and they sit together in silence for what could be ten minutes or two hours.

But Copia is still very much aware of Papa’s exhaustion and it soon becomes clear that he barely has the energy to keep himself sitting upright. Copia turns to face him, resting his head on Papa’s thigh. “What do you need?”

“I need…” Papa trails off as if he has so many answers to the question that he doesn’t know where to begin. Copia is ready to help him with all of them. “I need,” Papa starts again, “a long, hot bath and a good night’s sleep in my own bed.”

“I’ll draw your bath for you.”

Papa sighs. “Copia, you don’t have -” He stops. “Alright.”

Copia immediately heads to the bathroom and runs hot water in the large clawfoot tub. He adds some eucalyptus oil to help ease Papa’s tired muscles. He then helps him undress, stopping to run his fingers over bruises on Papa’s arms and legs. Once Papa is submerged in the steaming water, Copia sits behind him at the head of the tub. He rubs Papa’s neck and shoulders, massages his scalp, and is rewarded by the occasional hum of approval.

Eventually, Papa leans back to look at him, a sleepy smile on his lips. “It’s good to be back,” he says. “With you.”

Copia’s heart swells in his chest. He buries his face in Papa’s hair, wraps his arms tighter around him.

“I’m happy you’re home.”


End file.
